


Mr. Riddle's Eventful Evening

by dylanpidge



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 1940's Hogwarts, Featuring a drugged Tom Riddle, Gen, Implied/Referenced Underage Drinking, Peeves is the voice of reason, Recreational Potion Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2019-04-07 18:25:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14086908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dylanpidge/pseuds/dylanpidge
Summary: A single mislabeled bottle at a Syltherin house party can lead to a lifetime of consequences. Join Tom Riddle as he makes friends, discovers new drinks, finds his true self, and learns about the wonders of puberty—not necessarily in that order.





	Mr. Riddle's Eventful Evening

“Join the festivities for once, Riddle. We’re only one match away from winning the Quidditch Cup!”

The slurred declaration was directed at the lone occupant of the room who seemed to be doing his best to avoid looking up from the leatherbound book resting on his lap. The boy was seemingly lounging comfortably, but he almost looked poised—like he was ready for a group of photographers to come in at any moment and he was the model. He was wearing a pair of dark trousers with an equally dark vest, which was worn over a crisp white button down—a silver and green tie was perfectly fitted through the collar of the shirt. His dark brown hair—almost black in the right light—was loosely combed to one side, with some bangs framing the left side of his forehead. He had strong grey eyes, with an obscure intensity hidden behind them. These eyes were only heightened by his defined jawline and sharp cheekbones (the year before, some Gryffindors had started the idiotic rumor that his chiseled cheekbones and jawline were a result of some body-enhancement magic, and he was hounded by female and male students alike for the source of spells he used. Idiots.).

Tom Marvolo Riddle snapped his book shut to gaze at the ceiling above his bed as he prepared to deal with the drunken fool who had just barged into the dorm room. It was just a few hours earlier that Slytherin had won the match against Gryffindor, bringing the house that much closer to claiming the Quidditch championship title. The sixth-year Prefect had never cared for the sport; it was flashy and unimportant. There were much more interesting things to devote his time to. But to keep up appearances, he grudgingly attended each Slytherin game. A book from the Restricted Section charmed to appear as an advanced potions textbook was enough to hold Tom’s attention in the overcrowded stadium  From what he had seen from the game earlier that day, the Slytherins certainly had a right to celebrate—not that Tom planned to either way. Tom finally deigned the intruder with a glance.

Abraxas Malfoy stood in the doorway, face flushed and a drunken grin plastered on his face— evidently well past his alcohol tolerance. His platinum blonde hair was still slicked back perfectly, probably from the quite frankly obscene amount of hair product he used—in Tom’s opinion at least, not that he would voice the thought aloud. Malfoy’s eyes had turned from their usual cold blue to a more mellow mix of dark blue and grey, shadowed by his drooping eyelids. He swayed in the doorway to the dorm room, holding on to the edge of the dark, polished wood door to keep his balance. If he was sober he would have known better than to bother Tom during the evenings.

Tom thoughts were pulled back to last year, when he spent most days and nights after classes in the Chamber of Secrets. He had spent hours upon hours unlocking everything Salazar Slytherin had left from the founding of Hogwarts. So many deliciously dark spells, filled with promises of power beyond anything Tom had encountered before. He could only imagine what knowledge was still locked away under layers and layers of ancient spells. But it was too dangerous to visit this year. If it wasn’t for his desperate and last-minute plan to frame that oaf Hagrid, Tom would have to endure the orphanage year-round once again—which was _not_ an option. The two months he was there were already enough on their own. _But soon,_ Tom promised himself. Soon he would be 17, an adult in the wizarding world. Once he was out of Hogwarts he could finally escape from beneath Dumbledore’s oppressive thumb. _And then I can truly begin to rise,_ Tom thought with dark glee, _to make a name for myself, to fight, to conquer, to dominate, to k_ —

A large shout and a bang from downstairs broke Tom out of his inner monologue. There was a pause followed by peals of drunken laughter. The smell of Firewhiskey had begun to waft up the stairs. Tom closed his eyes and sighed deeply.

“For the life of me, Malfoy, I cannot imagine how you came up with the brilliant idea to try to convince me to get drunk with the rest of our house.”

Truthfully Tom had never even tasted alcohol before, much less gotten to the point of inebriation. Slughorn had offered it to him in one of their meetings in the past, (“Just a sip to help you get through your exams, my boy!”) but he barely had to give it a thought before declining his offer. That loss of control could not be allowed. What if Tom confessed to a random stranger that he was the heir of Slytherin? What if he confessed to _Dumbledore?_ Tom had to repress a full-body shudder at the thought and brought his attention back to the drunk pest in the doorway.

Malfoy looked as though he had already forgotten what he had asked in the first place. He ran a pale hand through his equally fair hair as he tried to remember his train of thought. Tom watched as the one swift motion ruined the perfect form the hair had been in before. Tom's lips twitched upward in dark amusement as he imagined what Malfoy’s uptight pureblood father would think if he saw how poorly his son handled his alcohol, almost as if he were a _muggle_.

Half-lidded eyes finally lit up in recognition as he remembered his plea. With an idiotic smile Malfoy asked Tom again, “Will you at least grace us with your presence for a short while? Walburga has been _dying_ waiting for you to make an appearance.”

Malfoy had a cunning look in his eyes that was cut off when he lost his balance and toppled over onto the hardwood floor. Tom ignored his pitiful groans and instead focused on the pressing issue at hand. _That bloody Black_ , Tom seethed inwardly. Tom had been dealing with Walburga Black’s increasingly forward flirtations since the beginning of last year. While Tom wanted to turn her down outright, he knew he could not be too cold towards her. The invaluable library on the Dark Arts he has access to when he entertains her advances is worth far more than his wish for solitude. And since visiting the Chamber of Secrets was too much of a risk this year (Dumbledore’s bright robes never seemed to be fully out of sight), the Black library was the only other source of  texts that catered to his… _darker_ ambitions. A look at the doorway showed Malfoy finally standing, though on admittedly shaky legs. Tom breathed out a gust of air as he sat up on his bed.

“Fine. But only for five minutes at the most.”

Malfoy whooped in excitement and then spun around to quickly descend the stairs, Tom following at his own sedate pace. 

* * *

Tom inwardly recoiled at the absurdity of the celebration in front of him. By the time he entered the common room, Malfoy had already been sucked back into the crowd. He cautiously only took a few steps into the room, not wanting to get jostled around by the amount of bumbling witches and wizards crowded together throughout the space. He knew that the only reason the party hadn’t already been shut down was that of the House’s location in the dungeons, where no one could hear the loud yells and glass bottles being shattered. Tom had never understood why the other houses didn’t bother putting up a silencing charm around their common rooms when they’re having parties. _It’s their own fault for getting caught,_ Tom thought vindictively.

Tom tensed almost imperceptibly when he felt a hand grip his shoulder before proceeding to gracefully shrug it off in the same motion by turning around to look at the owner of the appendage.

“Riddle! I’m surprised to see you down here.” Too white teeth glinted back at him under high cheekbones. It was Avery. His normally well-brushed brown hair was now slightly askew but he didn’t look nearly as drunk as Malfoy. His dark blue eyes still seemed to hold some semblance of intelligence.

“I’m only staying for a few minutes,” Tom promised— if only to himself.

Avery only laughed. “Of course, of course. I wouldn’t expect anything else from you, Riddle. Let me go grab you a drink while you’re down here.”

Before Tom could voice any objection Avery had already been swallowed up by the crowd of people dancing in the middle of the common room. Well, it was less dancing and more of a drunken imitation of an animal mating ritual.

“Tom, darling, it’s so good to see you!”

The shrill voice of Walburga Black practically pierced through Tom’s eardrums but he forced himself to plaster a pleasant look on his face. Standing before him was his fellow year-mate Walburga Black. It seems she had taken the time to change into some very unnecessary dress robes. They seemed more appropriate at the ball than a small house party, with enough jewels woven into the dark fabric to make a Weasley cry. Her hair, its color true to her family name, was done up in an elegant bun with dark eyeshadow that made her look like a blue-eyed raccoon. The way she was blushing from her forehead to neckline as she stared and him with undisguised lust made it obvious that Black had dressed up for Tom. He had to restrain himself from rolling his eyes. Her laughable plans at seduction only succeeded in making her look less appealing to him, which Tom thought was impossible. _How humiliating,_ he inwardly raved, _that she is able to call herself a Slytherin. A Gryffindor could be more cunning than her_. None of these thoughts showed on Tom’s face, however. He’s had a lot of practice dealing with her pathetic courtship attempts in the past.

“Walburga, you look as lovely as ever. Are you enjoying the party?”

Black’s eyes lit up as she pushed a strand of her dark hair back behind her ear. She twirled a finger around the gaudy earring and back down to her equally atrocious necklace. Tom refused to allows his eyesight to venture any further down as Black tried and failed to address him with a sultry tone, “I must say I’m having a much better time now that you’re here.”

She fluttered her eyelashes at him but Tom thought she looked like she lost control of her eyelids. He sent a small smile in her direction, showing none of his teeth as he politely humored her advances.

“Well, sadly I won’t be here long. I have a lot of work to do tonight—”

Black suddenly ‘accidentally’ fell forward onto Tom as other party goers jostled their way through the room. She grasped his sleeve in her hand as not to fall over, her balance already affected by the alcohol in her system. As one of her hands wandered to his chest, Tom had to swallow back a grimace and his initial violent reaction. _What I wouldn’t do to be alone with her,_ Tom imagined with a hidden dark smirk. Little did he know that Black was thinking the very same thing about him, but with a very _different_ connotation.

“But Tom it’s Friday! What couldn’t possibly wait until after our Quidditch celebration?”

Tom eased her tentacle-like grip on him as he backed up slightly, momentarily distracted by her amusing attempts to right her balance after the sudden loss of support. A hand placed between his shoulder blades stopped his attempted retreat abruptly. He quickly spun around and came face to face with Avery once again. Tom’s scowl was wholly ignored by Avery, most likely because he looked even _further_ inebriated than he did five minutes before. In his right hand was a bubbling mixture of blue and purple hues. Tom was only made aware of this glass when he was forced to grip the cup himself lest it spills on his shirt and trousers. Tom looked back up at Avery with an indifferent façade that was starting to crack with each test to his patience.

“What is this?”

Avery grinned and leaned in to presumably explain. Up close Tom could see the progression of the flush on the boy’s cheeks, indicating just how much the boy must be drinking. He then started to loudly whisper (it was more a yell than anything), “I know you don’t drink, but you look like you could use something. There’s no alcohol in it, just fizz. You can check if you want.”

Tom pushed the other teen away as quickly as possible so he could get Avery’s boozy breath out of his face. While Tom didn’t like taking suggestions from anyone, he was slightly impressed that Avery had picked up on his continued sobriety and that he even had the brain power to remember the fact in his current state. Tom decided the spell was the best course of action either way and performed it with a simple flick of his wand. The spell was a handy one to know—once cast over a liquid, the witch or wizard who performed the spell will be able to tell if there was any alcohol present in a liquid. While not useful in most situations, Tom was glad it was becoming useful now. He also cast a discrete ill-intent spell, which would alert the caster if the drink was made with a negative mindset or goal in mind. Thankfully for Avery, both came back negative.

Looking down at the glass speculatively, Tom slowly raised it and took a thoughtful sip. It tasted like bananas, which he thought was odd considering the pink and blue color of the drink. _Then again,_ he thought wryly to himself, _I should stop being surprised by anything the wizarding world has to offer me._ Tom stared at Avery, drink casually held in hand, and let the tension build for a moment. Watching Avery fidget with more nervousness every second almost made up for his pathetic attempts to pester Tom. Finally, he responded with a small tilt of the head and an almost imperceptible smirk, “Not bad.”

Avery gave an excited shout of laughter before finally noticing Black’s presence. He walked up to her and indecently wrapped an arm around her shoulder. Tom only heard, “My lady, how are—” before tuning out their conversation as unimportant, choosing instead to focus on the crowds of people around him. He spotted Nott, the seventh-year male Prefect, snuggled up in the corner armchair with his girlfriend. Tom knew for a fact that Nott had nighttime prefect duties in less than an hour. Tom looked back down at the fizzing liquid in his cup. Knowing he couldn’t just pour the drink out without looking suspicious, Tom took a deep breath before chugging the rest of the glass. Despite the initial fruity taste, it left an odd, minty tingle in his mouth that was not wholly unpleasant.

Tom started to make his retreat as he addressed Black and Avery for the final time that night, “It’s almost time for my prefect rounds so I must be going. Very nice to see you both.”

Black looked distraught but resigned while Avery just looked confused. The brown-haired boy spoke up quickly, “Wait, doesn’t Nott have—“

Tom was glad to know that even in the other boy’s hazy brain, Avery can catch his deadly glare in an instant and know that he should _really just shut up now_. Black was still pouting but thankfully seemed oblivious to the whole exchange. Tom was finally able to fully turn around and make his was over to Nott.

Even though he was a year ahead, Nott knew from experience that giving Tom Riddle his full attention was always the best course of action. The burly seventh year moved his girlfriend aside who gave a startled huff and then turned his eyes on the imposing sixth year in front of him. Tom tampered down the satisfaction he felt on receiving such unquestionable respect from the upper year to get his point across as quickly as possible. The sooner he could leave the better.

“I’m taking over your prefect duties for tonight. You will take mine for this upcoming Tuesday. I assume this isn’t an issue?”

The last part was phrased like a question as if Nott had a choice in the matter—they both knew better. Tom always got what he wanted. And when he didn’t…well…let’s not worry about that. Nott kept up the illusion of free will by shaking his head no. Tom tilted his own head slightly in return before finally heading to the exit and stepping into the dungeon’s frigid, yet somehow humid air. 

* * *

“Avery! Avery!”

The boy whose name was being yelled spun around quickly and instantly regretted it as his brain decided to do a full spin inside his skull. _Now_ he would admit he’s had too much to drink. He tried settling down his head by cradling it in his hands but it wasn’t working. He gave a half groan, half whine, “What, Lestrange?”

The teen, now dubbed ‘Lestrange,’ barely waited for a response to ask the question he came bounding over to ask, “Did you drink that cup of fizzy stuff that you poured ten minutes ago?”

Avery thought back, taking his time, making Lestrange most restless with each passing moment. He barely remembered past a few second ago. _Fizzy drink, fizzy drink...oh yeah!_ That stuff he gave to Tom. He must’ve liked it based on how quickly he chugged it down. Well, that answered the question Lestrange had been asking him, “No.”

Which was true; Tom was the one who drank it.

Lestrange let out a relieved gust of air as he rubbed his eyes slightly.

“Thank Merlin,” he moaned. “That was an experimental potion made by some seventh years and me. They left the bottle down here to try and trick some unsuspecting snakes to test the effects for them. I can’t imagine if someone actually drank a whole cup of it. Where is it now? Avery? Avery?!”

Sadly, Avery could not answer him from his position on the floor as he had finally succumbed to blissful, drunken unconsciousness.

* * *

Tom pulled at the collar of his uniform as he made his way down the winding corridor. As always, the young adult stayed aware of his surroundings even as he questioned the sudden spike in temperature he was feeling. He was nearing Slughorn’s Potions classroom, signaling to Tom that he was almost at the exit of the dungeons and entering the main floor of the ancient castle. The dark stones that lined the corridor lightened at the approach of each new torch and then darkened again once Tom passed them. The torches cast shapes on the walls that were practically hypnotic to Tom. _So pretty,_ he thought. Suddenly a burst of high-pitched laughter escaped his mouth.Tom clamped both hands across the bottom half of his face to stop the sound.

His feet suddenly came to a halt at the foot of the stairs leading up to the rest of the castle. What in Merlin’s name was that sound he just made? Did he seriously just _giggle?_ Tom shook his head quickly and started walking again. He cast a soft _Lumos_ , which lightly illuminated the grand hallways filled with slumbering portraits. A spike of noise further down the hallway immediately put Tom on edge and he jumped back slightly. He looked around with wide eyes before extinguishing the spell on his wand and crouching down. Slowly he made his way further down the hallway, thankfully not hearing any more noise on his trek.

As soon as he rounded the corner, the teen stood up straight and breathed a sigh of relief as he figured out the source of the sound. It couldn’t have been him. The sound _must have been a stork_ , Tom thought with a decisive nod, _or perhaps a stray cow._ Thinking nothing odd about the theories he had formed, Tom made his way further into the castle.

* * *

“What in the bloody hell was that?”

The question was asked by the portrait of Sir Hugh Stratford—a baron in his time and was directed at Lady Elizabeth Rowan—a renowned Herbologist in her own. The two were having a quiet chat before they retired for the evening when they had seen a light come from down the hallway. Assuming it was a patrolling teacher or Prefect, the two resumed their murmured conversation. Rowan had said something remarkably witty in regards to the outlandish robes they had seen the Transfiguration professor wearing the previous evening. It was amusing enough to Stratford that he had let out a small chuckle. Immediately after, the light that had been continuously nearing them from down the hallway went out.

The two paused their conversation in curiosity. The moon poked out from behind some clouds, bathing the corridor in its soft light. What came into focus to the two portraits was a boy, a sixth or seventh year going by what Rowan could see, edging along the wall at a careful place. While it was normal for patrolling students or teachers to be careful not to wake up any portraits on their rounds, it was _not_ normal to see them make an exaggerated tip-toe motion down the length of the hallway. When he saw his shadow on the ground, the young teen maneuvered himself in such a way that… _it almost looked like an elephant,_ Rowan thought faintly, staring unabashedly at the scene before her. The boy started giggling like a first year Hufflepuff at the shapes he was forming with his shadow, before skipping ahead to round the corner, leading him out of sight of the gaping portraits.

Rowan sighed while shaking her head, thinking back her fellow portrait’s inquiry. _Children these days,_ she thought fondly, _have not changed much from my own youth._ She remembered when she was first initiated into her Herbology apprenticeship—each new witch and wizard was forced to eat a handful of magical herbs and “see what would happen.” Pushing aside the memory, she met the eyes of the bewildered portrait hanging next to her and finally answered his question.

“That boy is about to have the experience of a lifetime.” 

* * *

Tom continued skipping down the corridor, too far gone to care who could hear his loud giggling. He suddenly found himself in front of a large painting of fruit. _The kitchens,_ Tom remembered faintly. Feeling another wave of heat against his already fevered skin, Tom went to loosen his tie a bit more—only to find it entirely missing from his person. Looking down, the boy noted that he had misplaced his vest as well on his impromptu journey to the kitchens.

“Looking for this?” A nasally-sounding voice asked from behind the drugged boy.

Tom moved his body to face the intruder. His entire being felt sluggish, like he moving underwater. It was not a bad feeling, so he basked in the calming waves. Finally, Tom was able to see who had asked him the question. Standing—well, floating was more accurate—was Peeves. He was wearing his usual colorful jester outfit with a sleeping cap instead of his usual matching hat with bells attached(it was only after a... _suggestion_ from the Bloody Baron that Peeve’s decided to change his hat to something quieter for the nighttime). He was holding Tom’s Slytherin tie and vest in his hand with an utterly bewildered expression on his face. Tom only had time to nod in reply before the poltergeist interrupted him once again.

“You’re that Riddle kid right? I was going to come over here and joke about Ickle Tommy losing his vest and tie,” when he mentioned ‘Ickle Tommy,’ Peeves voice went nasally once again before lowering to a more manageable pitch. “But you just took over five minutes to turn in a half circle to face me. How drunk are you, Tommy Boy? Or are you playing a prank on me?”

An accusatory tone painted the last question, and Peeves narrowed his eyes at Tom when his tirade had no psychical reaction on the boy. Tom was too busy latching onto one word to have an outward reaction. _Prank. Prank. Prank_. Tom thought fervently. He couldn’t contain it anymore and yelled, “Prank!!”

Loud shushes were heard from the portraits down the corridor but Tom paid them no heed. He looked around wildly and spotted Peeves, who looked frozen in place (if that was even possible for a ghost). Tom’s eyes finally lit up in recognition when he saw the poltergeist, already seeming to have forgotten about meeting Peeves just a few minutes earlier.

“You’re Peeves, right? Want to help me with the most bestess prank in the world?”

Peeves took a second to questionably mouth ‘bestess?’ before turning his attention back to Tom. He gave the boy a cautiously impish smile, “The Bloody Baron would kill me if I left one of his snakes alone in this state and I’m always up for a good prank. Let’s do it!” 

* * *

Hazy grey eyes fluttered open and met the beady gaze of Peeves, who was hovering over Tom’s position on the ground. Not giving a second thought to _why_ he was just laying on the ground, Tom stood up and turned to Peeves excitedly.

“You’re Peeves, right? Want to help me with the most bestess prank in the world?”

Peeves just stared at him.

“You _just_ pulled a prank—if you can even call it that. How hard did you hit your head when you fell down?”

The lack of understanding must have shown on Tom’s face because Peeves brought his hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

“Morgana give me strength,” Peeves whispered before more loudly addressing Tom, “You suddenly ran towards the Great Hall, going on about a Compulsion Charm before you slammed open the doors yelling ‘MERLIN IS IN THE HOUSE.’ You were wildly slashing your wand through the air while yelling...pumpkin juice, I believe? Then a burst of magic blew you us out the hall doors and now here we are.”

The lack of comprehension still present in Tom’s expression made Peeves realize trying to explain himself would just be beating a dead hippogriff. Sighing, the poltergeist pulled out the vest and tie and floated over to the slowly blinking boy.

Peeves will think back to this night in the future often, every time he sees goblets and goblets filled with pumpkin juice lining the house and staff tables. Over half a century of pumpkin juice at every meal, Peeves had to concede that Tom threw the most successful prank in Hogwarts history—even if he wouldn’t remember it.

But for now, Peeves had to deal with said mastermind as he struggled against the poltergeist’s attempts pull the vest over the boy’s head. He gave up halfway through the tie, choosing to leave it wrapped around Riddle’s forehead. _Now_ the boy had looked like he had really lost it. With his vest on backward and inside out ( _oops,_ Peeves cringed), his tie wrapped around his head, and a crazed look in his eye, Tom looked everything like the drugged-out teen he was. Staring at Tom again, Peeves realized he was getting a headache. He didn’t even know poltergeists _could_ get headaches.

He reached over to Tom again, his other hand moving to pinch the bridge of his nose once again, “Here—just let me—”

Peeves was too busy wrestling the vest off the boy, and then wrestling it back _on,_ to worry about complete sentences. With a hidden smirk, he left the tie around the teen’s head. The poltergeist had to cause at least _some_ mischief tonight. Peeves spun the boy around to face the corridor to the right of the Great Hall and pushed him forward to start walking. After a few stumbling steps Tom seemed to realize how his legs worked again and he started moving without Peeves’ assistance. Peeves sighed with relief. He didn’t think have any more nice in him. He was a poltergeist, not a Hufflepuff. Before Tom disappeared fully out of sight on his mechanical walk Peeves called out,

“Dungeons are that way, Ickle Riddle—you’re welcome!”

With the boy finally out of his hair, Peeves cackled in delight before flying off.

* * *

As a rule, Tom tries to limit his interactions with Dumbledore strictly to Transfiguration and meals. Any time Tom saw him elsewhere on the school grounds, he would take the time to avoid the man as much as possible. However, it was not the cool, logical Tom Riddle who saw Dumbledore leisurely walking down the hallway that late evening. No, it was the Tom Riddle who had drunk a whole cup of an experimental potion with unknown effects who yelled out, “Dumbles!”

The loud yell caught Dumbledore’s attention, but it was the speaker and the nickname that caught him off guard. The older wizard was wearing a pair of dark blue sleeping robes with twinkling moons accenting the cuffs and collar.

“Tom?” Dumbledore queried faintly. Immediately Tom’s hands came up to cover his ears.

“Don’t be so loud!” Tom scolded, bringing his hand down to wag his finger at the bewildered man. The older wizard seemed to collect himself, eyeing the tie wrapped around the boy’s head.

“My apologies, Tom. I didn’t expect to see anyone out this late. I like to count the portraits to help me fall asleep. What are you doing out of your dorm room?”

Dumbledore’s eyes started to rekindle some of their old suspicion of the boy but Tom was too busy staring at the lower half of the older man’s face. Dumbledore’s beard, a light brown with flecks of silver, was starting to grow out to be quite long. It seemed the man liked the length and saw no need to shorten it. But to Tom, it looked like a snake. A big snake, like the Basilisk in the Chamber. Tom’s eyes teared up a bit. He missed that big snake.

Dumbledore was startled when he noticed the unshed tears in Tom’s eyes. He had never witnessed the boy show any emotion on his face other than scorn for his peers. From his first meeting with the boy, Dumbledore was able to glimpse behind the boy’s emotional façade, but now there was no need. Tom’s face was an open book. This only increased Dumbledore’s suspicions. _What was the boy’s game?_

Tom pouted while sniffling slightly.

“Big snake,” he mumbled. He never thought to name her before. Why didn’t he? Tom’s eyes welled up with more tears. _Merlin’s left testicle, I’m the heir and I didn’t name her._

“The heir,” Tom whispered as a single tear fell.

Dumbledore’s heart stopped when he heard Tom’s hushed words. _Big snake? Heir? Is he admitting to what I think he is?_ Dumbledore lightly gripped the boy’s shoulder. Shaking him slightly, Dumbledore spoke in a clear voice, “Tom, is there something you want to tell me?”

Tom’s eyes were lowered, leaving the older man unable to see the battle raging beneath the surface. Having been in his system a few hours, the potion was starting to wear off of Tom, if only very slightly. That sliver of consciousness was now working overtime to take control of his speech capabilities before Tom’s worst nightmare came true. He was about to confess to being the Heir of Slytherin. To _Dumbledore_ of all people, to add salt to the wound. _That is not allowed_. With one last push of sheer desperation, Tom yelled out, “There’s hair on my big snake!”

Dumbledore hadn’t been this shocked since the Head Girl from a few years back professed her love to him (Oh Minerva. He hopes she’s doing well). Shaking his head from the memory, Dumbledore turned a bit pink at the ears. Letting go of Tom, the man started to stand straight again. Dumbledore let out a soft sighing noise before looking out one the nearby windows.

“It seems that I have failed you, my boy. I thought that sexual education would be covered at the orphanage but it seems I was mistaken. It is perfectly normal to find hair on your...snake,” Dumbledore coughed at the word before continuing. “It is called puberty. Tomorrow morning I will talk to Headmaster Dippet about starting a potential class on the wonders of the changing body but for now, I can answer any question you may have. Anything come to mind, Tom?”

As he asked the question, Dumbledore finally looked over to where Tom had been standing to only to find the boy bounding down the hallway towards the dungeons. Shaking his head, Dumbledore continued his sedate pace down the hallway. It occurred to the aging wizard that he never got to ask Tom the question that had been simmering in the back of his mind since he bumped into him.

Why in Merlin’s name did he have a tie around his head? 

* * *

By some miracle, Tom was able to make his way back to the common room with no further incident. Though the journey _did_ take much longer because of the number of walls that appeared in Tom’s path. _Tomorrow,_ Tom vowed, _I will take revenge on the dungeon walls that wronged me_. Finally stepping fully into the common room, Tom observed that the party had finally cleared out—leaving only unconscious drunks and empty bottles. A shock of platinum blonde hair jumpstarted Tom’s memory and he smiled. “Malfoy!”

Making his way over to the unmoving boy, Tom saw his eyes were closed like the rest of the occupants in the room but that didn’t stop Tom from vigorously shaking the pureblood’s shoulder.

“Malfoy, guess what?”

A groan was his only reply.

“I pulled a prank!”

Another groan.

“I don’t remember what I did but it was the best.”

The incessant shaking from Tom finally seemed to bring the other boy to semi-consciousness. Light blue eyes opened to take in the dark leather couch he was draped across and the crazed-eye boy crouching over him. Malfoy let out a curse.

“Morgana’s saggy tits, Riddle, you scared me!”

He then clapped a hand over his mouth. Even drunk, Malfoy knew to _never_ curse at Riddle. Looking up at Tom with terrified eyes, he removed his hand to whisper, “I’m really sorry, Riddle. That was not—”

The last word was partly cut off when a hand clapped Malfoy suddenly on the back. “Don’t worry about it, man! It’s all good.” With that, Tom plopped down on the couch next to Malfoy, who had sat up against the lone pillow once he had woken up. Not one to look a phoenix in the mouth, especially when he was as drunk as he was, Malfoy just gave a stupid grin to the taller boy. They both leaned back to stare at the fire across the table in front of them. Thankfully Tom wasn’t feeling feverish anymore. Instead he had cooled down, thinking deeply about what lies ahead.

“What do you plan to do after Hogwarts, Malfoy?”

The boy in question kept his eyes on the fire, pulling at the hem of his robe while he answered, “I don’t know, ‘man,’” Malfoy adopting the muggle word Tom had used earlier. “Become a dragon tamer, maybe a Quidditch star.” He snorted. “Maybe I’ll take over the world.”

Tom waved his hand in front of Malfoy’s face, “No fair! I call world domination. You can’t have it.”

Malfoy slowly blinked at him.

“You _called_ it? What in Merlin’s name does that mean?”

At the question, Tom just pushed Malfoy’s face to the side with the hand that had previously been waving at him—all the while mumbling, “Muggles...don’t worry about it.”

After Malfoy successfully pushed the other’s hand away, Tom leaned back once again before sighing.

“I need to make a name for myself,” Tom whispered, “if I ever really want to take over the world.”

They both sat in silence for a moment.

“Then do it. Make a name.?”

Tom jolted at the question. “What do you mean?”

Malfoy stretched his arms over his head as we answered, “It’s just that ‘Tom Riddle’ seems pretty boring for the name of an evil overlord. You should come up with some cool, scary name.”

The longer Malfoy went on the more excited both boys seemed to get for the idea. Grabbing a scrap of parchment and a bottle of ink, Malfoy joined Tom back on the couch where the other had procured a quill and was now moving the table closer to the couch. Setting the parchment down on the new writing surface, Malfoy handed the ink to Tom. The dark-haired wizard was resting his chin on his fist, having a hard time thinking clearly.

Finally he spoke, “I want the name to be my name. But the letters all in a different order. What’s that called?” Tom’s face scrunched up as he thought, making Malfoy think he looked like he just sucked on one of Dumbledore’s Lemon Drops.

“Ama… ana… banana… bananagram!” He declared confidently. “There we go, let’s get started!”

_Two hours later..._

It was not as easy as Tom imagined to make an official name for himself when he first put ink to parchment. Well, it probably wouldn’t be as difficult if Tom still wasn’t feeling the effects of the potion. As it was, the parchment was filled with failed naming attempts. His top choices were currently ‘Immortal Love Rodd’ and ‘Mr. Tom A. Dildolover.’ At least he drew some amusing pictures to help curb his disappointment. He was nearing the bottom of the parchment. _Come on Tom,_ he scolded himself, _who are you going to be?_ He looked over to Malfoy, who had passed out again after the first half hour. The pureblood was lucky. He had a cushy job waiting for him at the Ministry while Tom met obstacles with every step he took.

_Who am I?_

Tom took his quill to the parchment— _I am…I am..._

_I am Lord Voldemort._

That was the one. That was it! Tom smiled brightly to himself. If anyone who knew him saw that expression, they would immediately turn around and walk the other way—being too freaked out with seeing such a happy expression on the boy’s face. _Cool,_ Tom scribbled next to the name, making sure to circle the it as well. He could totally imagine taking over the world as Lord Voldemort. Merlin, even thinking the name felt right. He drew himself with cool fangs next to the name fighting a baby.

“No baby can defeat Lord Voldemort! Take this! And that!”

He also made a fantastic cape for himself, with ‘awesome’ written across the front. Drawing complete, Tom happily blew on the ink to make it dry, before depositing the parchment in his trouser pocket. Thinking it was finally time to go to sleep, Tom meandered his way through furniture and unconscious bodies when he noticed another familiar face passed out on the floor. It was Avery, and he looked to be in a deep sleep going by the line of drool stretching from his mouth to the floor. Reaching into his pocket, Tom pulled out the quill and ink he had stored there. Moving the hair off the boy’s forehead, Tom wrote a heartfelt message:

_I think about house elves sexually._

Tom had gained enough self-awareness to realize that Avery had some role in bringing Tom into his current inebriated state. For good measure, Tom applied a semi-permanent sticking charm in parseltongue—meaning Tom would be the only one able to remove the spell. And Tom would remove it, right after he practiced his castration hex on the boy. Nodding with only a small degree of his usual vindictive pleasure, Tom finally made his way to bed.

* * *

The first thing Tom thought when he woke up was, _I could really go for some pumpkin juice._ His second thought was, _when have I ever liked pumpkin juice?_ Tom sat up quickly in bed to take note of his surroundings, before abruptly laying back down again when the sun decided to wage  war against his eyes. He was finally made aware of the dull throbbing emanating from the front of his head that stretched throughout the rest of his skull.

_What in Merlin’s name happened last night?_

All Tom could fuzzily remember was following Malfoy to the common room for a party, being handed something by Avery, the taste of bananas and mint, and then nothing. The harder Tom tried to think back, the worse his headache throbbed. But still, his instincts were telling him that Avery was in some way behind his memory loss, Tom vowed to exact his revenge in the other _right that very instant_ —another wave of pain emanated through his head— _later; I will exact my revenge later_. Bringing a hand to his temple, Tom noticed it was covered by his tie that had somehow ended up wrapped around his head. Cursing himself once again for not remembering anything, Tom pulled the tie off his head in one swift motion. Keeping his eyes shuttered from the sun, the dark-haired teen slowly sat up on his bed. He was still in his school uniform he was wearing the night before, and as he sat up he heard a curious crinkling sound coming from the pocket of his trousers.

Taking everything out at once, Tom found a quill and ink bottle that were not his own, and a folded slip of parchment. Casting the ink and quill aside as unimportant, Tom unfolded the note with his usual graceful motion. His cheeks turned a bit pink when he recognized his handwriting and knew he was the author of this list, and most likely the drawings on the side as well. Angry at the obviously weakened state he was in the night before, Tom made to quickly dispose of the list. Before he could, something circled at the bottom of the parchment caught his eye. Fully taking in what he was seeing before him, Tom’s lips started to twitch up, before blooming into an outright evil grin. He let out a dark chuckle, one that would cause someone to shiver in fright if they could hear it. They would have a right to fear. After all—a monster had just been released.

* * *

“You’re lucky, you know.”

Avery shivered, though he did not know if it was from the icy tone of the person draped in the chair before him or from the coldness of the stones seeping through his knees on the floor.

“If the night had ended any differently, you would be dealing with more than just some measly writing on your forehead.”

Avery’s cheeks burned with this statement. He was the laughing stock of the entire Slytherin dorm that morning. No matter how many reversal or cleaning spells he attempted, nothing succeeded in removing the words from his forehead. Deciding to spend as much time away from others as possible until whatever spell keeping the words in place wore off, Avery found an unused classroom to finish his homework for the weekend. It was there that a note found him, with a message saying to meet at the group’s ‘spot’ at 11 o’clock. That was when Avery’s failure to remove the writing made sense. Riddle was behind the writing on his forehead, as well as the note. If Riddle was behind the spellwork there was no way Avery would be able to remove it on his own.

After successfully managing to not soil himself the rest of the day, Avery found himself in the position he was in now— kneeling at Tom’s feet in their gang’s secret meeting room in the dungeons. He was lucky. He knew the consequences of betraying Riddle, no matter how accidental it may have been.

“While your actions were idiotic, I was able to achieve something last night that was only possible under those select circumstances. To thank you, I will not be castrating you this evening.”

Knowing Tom was completely serious, Avery nodded his head rapidly.

“Thank you, My Lord,” he said reverently, “I won’t let it happen again.”

Riddle nodded once. He glared down at the kneeling boy again.

“See that you don’t,” the young wizard said with finality. “I will deal with Lestrange and his cohorts at a later date. But I promise you, _they will pay.”_

The last words started taking on a hissing quality, causing Avery to try and control his bladder all over again. Tom’s eyes never lost their sadistic edge as he looked down over Avery’s cowering form.

“You may go, Avery. Savor this freedom you feel, because I promise you—it is very easy for me to take away.”

The boy chuckled slightly in dark amusement before waving his hand in dismissal at the other. Avery gave a deep breath before speaking again with a slightly shaking voice.

“Thank you...Lord Voldemort.”

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Well, there you go. This story was almost abandoned but it wouldn't leave me alone so I finally got to it. The list that is mentioned is based off of real fanart. See it [here](https://goo.gl/images/56GkYj). I hope you all enjoyed reading this. I had a lot of fun writing it. Thanks a ton to GammilyIsMe for putting up with me throughout all the great editing she did :) Leave kudos or a review, I love to read them!


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